


The Little Meadow That Once Was

by Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dead Toby Smith | Tubbo, Funeral, Let them be kids, Niki and schlatt are just mentioned, Post Festival, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), like a lot, minecraft but more irl, there’s also a semi graphic scene involving hanging, tommy and Tubbo deserve better, very painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY/pseuds/Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY
Summary: A place to run from the war, somewhere to hide away and just be kids. That’s all they ever wanted, but all good things must come to an end.Some more painfully tragic than others.-Or, a little shack in a clearing not too far from the entrance of pogtopia, where Tommy and Tubbo use to spend hours playing in the grass, letting themselves live as kids. At least, until both of them are lost, and only one survives to tell the story.
Relationships: no - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 125





	The Little Meadow That Once Was

**Author's Note:**

> I used a random prompt generator, got this. This does involve a semi graphic hanging scene, it’s over in one paragraph, but it exists.   
> This is not a ship fic, they are minors. They have said they don’t want to be shipped.   
> Other than that, I hope this hurts you as much as it hurt me to write, cause oh boy

The walk into the familiar field was lonely. The grass didn’t spring back from under his feet, the flowers had long since lost their petals, and the trees no longer held a warm buzz of life. It was lonely in every form the word could take. 

Tommy forced himself to take the walk. He had to have something, anything at all, to keep him sane. Maybe the meadow would help, it use to, so why would it be any different now? He would find the answer to that question in less than an hour. 

It was different because he was alone. 

The shack they’d built together still stood, surprisingly. Windows made of mesh screen, shoddy nailing job holding up walls and a roof. It had been Tubbo’s idea. A place for them to have all for themselves. Somewhere far from war and bloodshed, away from the screaming of their friends. How fitting it was that the little meadow would be the only thing still untouched by the flames. 

The door was a gate, neither of them could figure out how to make an actual door, and they didn’t want to find someone who did. But it made the place feel more like them. Chaotic and barely able to stand alone, clearly made by two boys who had vastly different ideas of what a cool house in the woods should look like. 

Tommy would deny it, but he was the one who wanted it to look more like a cabin or cottage. Tubbo wanted more of an adult treehouse, but neither would mind the combination of the two. 

The small piles of sketchbooks stacked in a corner caught his eye. Pages crinkled from dried rain, full of various drawings of either the boys or the wildlife. The different art styles combined almost perfectly, and Tommy felt his eyes water. He set the book back down on its pile. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He didn’t think he ever could, to be honest. 

The floor was covered in leaves and dead grass. Tubbo would never stand for this, always annoyed when he had to pick out bits of crushed leaves from his clothes. Saying something along the lines of ‘we really should get a better door. And a broom.’ And Tommy would always laugh, but they never got a door, nor a broom. He wishes they did. Tubbo would’ve liked to sing some stupid song out of tune while sweeping the dead plant life out of the doorway. Tommy wanted to hear his voice again, oh he wanted to hear it so bad. 

He resorted to huffing a sigh, pulling a water bottle from the pack on the floor. Their bed was an air mattress, it was half way deflated, but Tommy took a seat regardless. Blankets were bunched up by the two pillows, and with a moments hesitation, he reached out to grab one. 

He held it to his chest, burying his face in the worn fleece. It smelt like campfires and sugar, smallest hint of the peaches that grew a few miles past the meadow. It smelt like Tubbo. Like the good times of camping under the stars, pointing out the shapes of clouds, bad jokes and awful combinations of jumbled words. It smelt like a life he lost a long time ago. 

He couldn’t stop the tears now, the open sobs that broke past the barrier of his chest. Tubbo was gone. Schlatt had worked him until he was exhausted, and sent him to set up a festival. Tubbo gave a wonderful speech, not stumbling on any of the words, having gone over it several times with Tommy. And Schlatt had laughed at the end of it, called him a traitor, pulled out a bundle of rope. 

Tommy wasn’t fast enough to reach the stage in time. The image of Tubbo’s body being shoved forward, noose around his neck, was forever engraved in his eyes. He’d made a promise. He made a promise to always protect Tubbo, no matter what. A pinky promise, no less. 

And he had broken it. 

And it had broken him. 

The funeral was complete silence. Tommy stood at a podium, mouth dry, eyes glazed over. No one wanted to speak over him. He barely managed to choke out a stuttering mess of words, after all, he had no Tubbo to help run lines with. He faintly remembered saying something about wishing they could just go back to their field, watch the bees, splash around in a stream. He remembered stopping mid sentence clearly when he saw Schlatt standing near the back of the crowd. His eyes burned, and he made no sound when he pushed past the crown to stand face to face with the man. 

He seemed mournful. 

Tommy didn’t buy it, swinging a fist to connect to his jaw, going blind in a rage until his brothers pulled him off. 

He remembered placing a green rose on the top of the casket, how they found green roses was beyond him. But green reminded him of Tubbo. 

He was the first to arrive and the last to leave. Niki had pulled him in for a hug before she left, tucking his head into her shoulder. “You can cry, Tommy. You can cry.” And he did. 

He didn’t remember the start of the walk to their meadow, but he was there now. 

Sat in their little shack, dress shirt still tucked in. 

Tubbo would’ve laughed at the formal attire, tell him it didn’t look right, and he would agree. Neither of them were very fond of suits, but Tubbo had to wear them around Schlatt. 

He was buried in his favorite sweater, though. Dried flowers clutched in his hands. Tommy had gone through their collection, picking the prettiest ones, only the best for Tubbo. 

As the tears continued rolling, Tommy felt a hand on his back. It felt familiar, smaller than the adults. He didn’t have to open his eyes to realize that he wouldn’t see anyone, but he smiled through the tears nonetheless. 

“Hey Tubbo,” his voice was cracked, but he laughed anyways. A whisper of a ‘hello Tommy’ was what he got in return. Funny, really, how he was very adamant that he didn’t believe in ghosts, yet here he was, talking to the air and hearing things in return. ‘You’re gonna be okay. I love you man’ the hand moved away, replacing itself with what could only be a hug. There was nothing to grab, and Tommy knew that the second he moved, Tubbo would be gone again. 

“Promise me you’ll never leave me?” He screwed his eyes shut harder. ‘I promise, Tommy. Open your eyes, go to the stream, there’s something you should see’ “I don’t want to open my eyes, Tubbo.” his voice cracked. “You’ll be gone when I do,” he sounded young, like he was actually a sixteen year old who had lost his best friend, not the fake act he put up. ‘I’ll still be here. You just won’t feel me’ he nodded and opened his eyes. The moment he did, the warmth of the hug was gone, and all he felt was cold. 

He stood regardless of the tears, wiping his eyes and letting out sobs, making his way to the little stream they use to splash in. 

He stopped in his tracks, smile slowly creeping onto his face, a laugh bubbling out. There was a mother deer with twins. Both the babies were rowdy, kicking up water and chasing one another. The mother just watched, chewing on whatever leaves she found suitable. They didn’t stop when he made noise, didn’t spook away when he got closer. 

He was able to touch the fawns, tears still rolling down his cheeks. ‘I told you you’d want to see this. I’m still here, Tommy. I’m still here’ a hand on his shoulder, a dandelion tucked into his pocket. “You’re still here.” And just like that, Tommy was on his knees in the stream, sobbing his heart out, every bit of his suit getting soaked. The deer watched from a distance, but they didn’t leave. 

He waited until his throat was raw, until his eyes were in pain and his nose was running. The hand on his shoulder moved to his back, Tubbo would never leave, but he’d be waiting for their reunion. 

Maybe one day they could both see each other in their little meadow that once was.


End file.
